


Slave Trade

by Spinofflady



Series: Race to the Edge [7]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Original Female Character - Freeform, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-01 13:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8626249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinofflady/pseuds/Spinofflady
Summary: Hiccup and Catia are kidnapped by slave traders and sent to a slave port. With great effort, Hiccup avoids branding, and Catia even talks the guard into giving them fresh water, but nothing will keep them from being sent to the markets. Nothing but death, of course.





	1. Chapter 1

Astrid, Catia, and Heather marched through the woods to Astrid’s personal training ground, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. Catia had exceeded the week she had agreed to stay, but no one brought it up. She seemed happy, for once, and seemed to trust them more as time went on.

She and Heather had an interesting relationship. They were best friends, except for when they were cooking. After Catia shocked everyone with her gourmet bacon, she and Heather were always competing to see whose food was better. Astrid usually just sat off to the side and waited for the test-tasting part. But at the present they were talking about weapons; a safe topic, as there was no competition in the subject, however ironic it might be.

“So Tia,” Astrid asked, switching her axe from one shoulder to the other. “What’s your weapon of choice?”

“Well, I prefer close combat over distance fighting-”

“I know!” Heather interrupted, excited over finding another similarity between her and her friend. “I just love staring my enemy straight in the eyes right before I give the stunning blow-” she stopped herself after realizing what she had done. “Sorry.”

Catia laughed and shrugged it off. “I actually like it because it was the way I learned to fight. I rarely had a weapon to use, so I fought with my body.”

“How high can you kick?”

“Easily over your head,” she replied humbly. She paused and lowered herself on the ground into a full spilt, then rotated around to face the other direction and stretch her opposite leg. She jumped up and kicked her leg up and out to the side as far as she could, her knee actually reaching behind her shoulder. “That high,” she said holding the freakish position.

“Okay,” Astrid said looking away, “We get it. You’re flexible.”

Catia laughed again and lowered her leg, her hip audibly popping back into place. “I had to work for this, you know.”

“Yeah, that makes it even crazier. You actually tried to be that bendable.” The three arrived at the large clearing, scattered with faded targets. “You know,” Astrid said as she adjusted one of the targets to her liking. “You never actually told us your weapon of choice.”

“Well, I was interrupted,” Catia grinned, glancing over at Heather. “But the answer to your question is this.” She untied a strange leather and wood contraption from her belt, and then strapped them to her forearms. “They are called ‘bladed arm guards,’” she went on, adjusting the wooden bar that rested in her palm and attached to the actual guard.

They were the strangest “weapon” either of them had ever seen. They looked somewhat like a fingerless leather glove with a wooden bar in the palm that attached to a long metal rectangle bolted to the outside of the forearm.

“I don’t see the bladed part,” Astrid commented skeptically.

In response, Catia squeezed the bar, and a thin metal blade instantaneously popped out from the rectangle. It was actually quite a few pieces of metal, each one fitting perfectly inside the other so the blade could fold up inside the little metal box.

“Cool,” Heather shrugged, “but how much damage can that thing do? And how exactly do you fight with it?”

“Damage?” Catia chuckled, “Would you care to find out?”

Heather shrugged again. “Sure.”

Catia held her arm out, the blade exposed. “Run your finger over the blade,” she instructed. “But gently.”

Heather did so, and a soon as she skimmed the blade she gave a loud “Ouch!” She reeled back, shaking her hand to ease the pain. Glancing at her index finger, her eyes widened as she saw blood. “Good Thor, those things are sharp.”

“Now imagine me dragging this blade across your neck. See how it might be damaging?”

Heather shuddered. “More like decapitating.”

Astrid and Catia both laughed as Heather continued to shake her hand, jumbling about her stupid decision. “Show us how you fight with them,” Astrid encouraged. “They’re so awesome.”

Catia smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. A darkness clouded them, as she was scared of some unknown trouble lurking in the shadows of the trees. But the brief expression was gone in an instant, and she closed the right blade by running the other blade over it. She took it off and passed it to Astrid, who eagerly put it on.

“I’ll teach you some basic blocks,” Catia started, waiting as Astrid adjusted the weapon. “The blade is your shield as well as your sword, so always keep it in front of you. Put your right leg back for balance, left for me since I’m left handed.”

Astrid obeyed, putting the blade up in defense.

Catia’s eyes narrowed. “Duck.”

“What?” Her confusion was cut short as Catia’s blade came flying toward her head, and with a gasp, she ducked at the last possible second. “Tia!”

A grunt sounded from behind her, and she turned just in time to see a large, burly man fall to the ground, his head rolling a few feet further. Stunned, Astrid turned away, the disturbing image causing her stomach to churn. Catia didn't look even the slightest bit phased, even though her whole forearm was dripping with blood. _Decapitating_.

“Run,” Catia commanded, roughly helping Astrid to her feet and taking off the blade on her arm, strapping it to her own. “Run!”

Several other men emerged from the tree line, suddenly waking Astrid and Heather from their shock. They broke into a run, Catia following in hot pursuit. Arrows whizzed by them, luckily straying far from their targets.

Catia suddenly screamed, and Heather and Astrid glanced back to see her struggling against two of the men. They slowed, turning back to help her. “No!” she screamed. “Run! Get help! Go!”

The other men were charging them, and they had no choice but to run. Gasping for breath, they raced toward their base. “Help!” they screamed as the buildings came into view. “Help!”

Everyone came running to meet them. “What happened?” Hiccup asked, trying to sit them down.

“No, we can’t stay here!” Heather shook her head desperately. “They have Catia!”

“Who? Who has Catia?”

“Don’t know,” Astrid wheezed. “But they’re right behind us.”

“Actually, they’re in front of you,” Tuffnut said calmly, as if the situation meant nothing to him.

Everyone glanced fearfully in the direction of the base, their fear growing into terror as the caught sight of more men creeping toward them. A few of them darted forward, and without warning, Hiccup grabbed Astrid’s axe. He grabbed small package from his belt, breaking it open on the axe head, a green gel running over the blade. He pulled out his Inferno, sparking it so that the flame reached her axe.

He passed the flaming weapon back to her and motioned for her to follow him as they ran back toward Catia. “What about the others?” Astrid shouted as they ran.

“They have the dragons, they’ll be fine!”

Catia finally came into view, already tied and gagged, and surrounded by guards. At the sight of her friend, Astrid ran ahead, swinging her flaming axe as if she had no fear whatsoever. Catia furiously shook her head, grunting and trying to speak.

“Get down!” Hiccup jumped in front of Astrid, pushing her to the ground just as a mace would’ve cracked her skull open. Their weapons scraped through the dirt, extinguishing the flames. The circle of attackers grew tighter, surrounding the two on the ground. They backed toward a cluster of rocks, eyeing their opponents.

“We’re outnumbered,” Hiccup hissed in her ear. “Run and get help. I’ll hold them off.”

“But-”

“Run over the rocks. Now!” With that he jumped up and ran straight into the line of men with a battle cry, drawing everyone’s attention to himself. Astrid scrambled over the rocks, desperately trying to get away. Shouts behind her ensured that they had captured Hiccup and seen her. She almost turned back to help him, but knew that she would be useless on her own.

She noticed Catia’s bloodied arm guard on the ground, and snatched it up as she ran. The red liquid stained her fingers, the metallic stench almost reminding her of whet the weapon could do. She had dropped her axe, and it would be good to have something to fight with. Hearing footsteps behind her, she quickened her frantic pace. Her chest ached and her legs burned. She had to get away, but her exhausted body was failing her. Fear had sucked away all of her energy. She was working solely on adrenaline as she started to climb up to the backside of her hut.

She practically fell onto the platform, and pushed the ladder away from the floor, the men behind her tumbling back. One managed to grab hold of the wood, and pulled himself up. Astrid staggered to her feet and started to run again, stumbling over the bridge between her hut and the next piece of land.

The man was gaining on her. Gasping for air, she tripped and landed of her hands and knees. She scrambled back to her feet just as she felt the man’s hand scathe her foot. She ran to the hanger, pushed the door open and unlatched the stall where Stormfly had been sleeping.

The Nadder’s spines were on end, and the moment she was free, she shot them at the man just entering the doorway. He gave a mangled cry of pain and reeled back over the edge of the platform.

She made her way out into the open, trying to catch a glimpse of Hiccup or Catia. She did, or at least she saw the ship they were on sailing into a fleet of other ships. Her heart sank. They could never fight that many people at once.

Heather came running up beside her. “Are you okay?” she pressed, briefly rubbing Astrid’s back to help her catch her breath.

“Stoick,” she muttered, mounting Stormfly. “I have to get Stoick.” She took off, flying as fast as she could toward Berk.

. . .

Hiccup and Catia walked slowly up the foreboding hall of the ship, the overpowering stench of some unknown substance causing their stomachs to churn. The halls were so dark they could only see a few feet in front of them. They only light came from a guard who walked beside them, carrying a small torch. The walls seemed to be some form of cages, almost as crude as the ones on Outcast Island.

They turned down another hall, and the stench grew stronger. Quiet moaning could be heard somewhere off in the distance, and a soft, sad tune was being sang in the darkness.

A sudden spiel of incoherent words was shouted as someone threw themselves up against the inside of the bars, frantically reaching out to the people walking by. Hiccup jumped, surprised by the man. The guard stopped and shouted something back; it must have been another language, one Hiccup couldn’t recognize.

Hiccup was able to get a good look at the crazed man as they stood in the dark passage. He was skin and bones; nothing more than a skeleton. His clothes were shredded beyond use, dirty and stained with dried blood. He was so caked with filth that his skin was almost unseen. But perhaps most noticeable was the man’s eyes, blank and empty, nearly lifeless.

The man spoke again, but this time the guard stabbed at his exposed stomach with the torch, and he fell back with a cry of agony. Hiccup’s eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and grew wide with horror as he viewed his surroundings.

The cages were filled with people. Starving, dying, people. Old, young, male, female, they all shared the rather dead look in their eyes. Hiccup’s skin crawled as they reached out though the bars, like pale, lifeless ghosts seeking for something living.

He glanced over at Catia, noticing that she too was already gaining a dead look in her eyes. Her feet dragged and she stared at the ground, not a trace of spirit showing on her face. The only emotion that she faintly portrayed was sadness, though seemingly without reason.

The guard stopped and opened a cell, unchaining their hands and shoving them into the tiny room. The chains around their feet, however, clanked noisily as they stumbled forward.

An old man sat in a corner of the cell, his wild grey hair and beard framing his face like a lion’s mane. He muttered something, looking up at them revealing his one good eye. The other was replaced by a hole, scarred and hideous.

Catia replied, her voice sounding as lifeless as her eyes. The man laughed slightly, though it soon turned into a harsh racking cough which caused his whole body to shake.

“ _Tháinig mé díreach_ ,” Catia whispered, sitting down beside him; strangely not bother by the filthy floors. “ _Ach tá mé daor mo shaol ar fad. An fear óg thall fhios ag aon rud ar an sclábhaíocht cé.”_

The man nodded, smiling a toothless grin. It was clear by the way his body shook that he didn’t have long to live, not that anyone here had much to live for. Catia and the old man were still conversing, and Hiccup slowly examined the cell they were in, searching for a way to get out.

“Don’t bother,” Catia said suddenly, her voice soft and sad. “If there was a way out, someone would have found it by now.”

Hiccup’s leg started to throb, reminding him that he still had a few blisters from last week’s hike, probably more now that he’d done all that running. He swallowed and forced himself to sit on the disgusting floor. How had he ended up in this mess? He slowly realized where he and Catia had been taken. This was a slave ship. They would likely spend the rest of their lives working in some mine or be sold to work for someone else. No, his friends would come. They wouldn’t leave them to fend for themselves.

“ _Trofí_?”

The foreign wood woke him out of his blank stare. He glanced at the bars next to him, finding a little girl gazing up at him. Her hand was extended through the bars, her palm open, as if expecting him to put something in it. Her face was covered in dirt, though there were tiny clean trails where tears was washed it away. Her hair was glossy black, though the shine was dimmed by filth. Her clothes were stained and torn, and bruises showed on her bare arms.

“ _Trofí_?” She asked again, pushing her hand a little closer to him, staring up at him with the most pitiful puppy dog gaze Hiccup had ever seen.

Hiccup didn’t understand what she wanted, but Catia seemed to. “ _Miláte Elliniká_?” she asked the little girl, standing up from her place next to the old man and knelt in front of the child. “ _Do you speak Greek_?”

The little girl’s eyes lit up and she nodded vigorously. “ _Naí. Poios eísai?”_

 _“To ónomá mou eínai Catia. Ti gínetai me séna?_ ”

“ _Eímai Élena. Eímai pénte chronón!”_ The little girl held up five fingers proudly.

“Her name is Helena,” Catia chuckled, “and she is five years old. Oh, _aftó eínai mia tétoia kalí ilikía! Giatí eísai edó?”_

Helena’s happy face faded into sadness. “ _Merikoí kakoí ánthropoi me píran makriá. Allá o bampás mou érchetai na me párei. O ídios léei óti tha mou agorásei píso étsi óste na boró na eímai kai páli eléftheri.”_

Catia licked her lips slowly before translating. “She says that bad men took her away, but her father is coming to get her. She says he will buy her back so that she can be free again.”

Why the story affected Catia so much, Hiccup didn’t know. He felt sorry for the child, but he was currently feeling just as sorry for himself.

“ _Poiós eínai aftos_?” Helena asked Catia, pointing to him with a confused look.

“ _O fílos mou, Lóxinka_.” Catia replied, failing to translate, much to Hiccup’s annoyance.

Helena giggled, obviously at him. “ _Aftó eínai asteío!_ ”

“What is she laughing at?” Hiccup asked Catia somewhat under his breath, even though no one else could understand him.

“She thinks your name is funny,” Catia replied, somewhat amused herself.

Helena grew serious, looking at him again. “ _Giatí eínai tóso ísycha?”_

“ _Den xérei kathólou elliniká_ ,” Catia replied simply, then turned to Hiccup. “She wanted to know why you weren’t talking to her, so I explained that you don’t speak Greek.”

“So now she thinks I’m illiterate too,” Hiccup groaned. “Great.”

Catia was about to reply, but a guard suddenly appeared out of nowhere, slashing his sword across the bars of their cell. “Quiet!” he bellowed, his accent foreign. “You slaves now. We mark slaves. So come.”

He opened the door and pulled the two of them out and began to march them down the dark hallway, a strange smell of burning flesh guiding them as they made their way past cages of dying people.


	2. Chapter 2

Hiccup shot Catia a worried glance as they were hurried down the hallway, agonized screams slowly become audible. The air was heavy with the gagging stench of burning flesh, which was slowly becoming stronger. A huge wooden door suddenly stood before them, and the guard hauled it open revealing some type of forge. The bellows were huge, and a few more men stood around keeping the fires stoked.

A young man, perhaps a few years older than Hiccup, was crumpled on the floor, groaning and muttering something in another language. One of the men kicked him roughly, causing a mangled cry to fill the room. He was manhandled off the ground and dragged out the door. As he passed them, Hiccup caught sight of a red burn mark on his neck, still steaming from the extreme heat of an obvious branding.

Hiccup could recognize the shape anywhere. It was the Slavemark, one of the most dreaded symbols in the archipelago. A rectangular shape with a dragon’s horns in the center; that brand could cost everything. If scarred by it, one forfeited everything. Your family name was worth nothing, and any inheritance would be lost. The Slavemark took everything but your life.

He swallowed thickly. Realizing that if he were to be branded, he would lose everything. The likelihood of his father ever accepting him again was slim. He would be rejected from the village, if he were even allowed near the village. He could never be chief. He could never be a leader. He could never be anything more than a slave.

Catia was pushed into the room, the large door swinging shut after her. “ _Aren’t you a lovely little thing_ ,” one of the men leered at her in Irish. “ _It’s a shame to brand someone so pretty.”_

Catia knew better than to reply, however much she would like to give him a piece of her mind. He had no right to speak to her like that. Given the chance he might try something foolish, and she would make sure she gave it to him then. When they were alone, and it might actually gain her something.

“ _Aren’t you gonna say something, lass? I called you pretty._ ” He obviously wanted a response, but he didn’t deserve one as far as she was concerned.

“ _Fine. Have it your way. Not like it changes much.”_ The man pulled into his chest, running his hand over her hips.

Enraged, but refusing to show how her emotions, she pushed away from him, but her face was like stone. She stood, knowing there was no point in trying to get away.

A large man walked over, pushing the younger guard out of the way. “ _Quit fooling around and get to business,_ ” he growled, grabbing Catia by her hair and forcing her head down on an anvil, exposing her neck. He grabbed a brand and brought it so close she could feel the heat, but he stopped.

“ _What is this?”_ he asked, staring a scar already present on her neck, in the shape of an “s.” “ _Answer_!”

 _“A roman brand,”_ she replied softly, praying her reply would not upset him further.

“ _Well, aren’t you lucky_ ,” he sneered standing her up and pushing her toward the door. The guards opened it and let Hiccup and the other guard in, obviously for the same purpose they had brought her in for.

Hiccup glared at them, as if trying to warn them to keep their distance. Catia prayed he wouldn’t try anything stupid. They told him to put his head down on the metal, but of course he didn’t understand. Everyone here was either Irish or possibly roman, and she wasn’t sure if Hiccup could understand any of either language.

The guard pushed his head down roughly, grabbing the rod and preparing to brand the back of Hiccup’s neck. He flinched as the red hot metal came closer, but didn’t make any sound.

A thought suddenly pushed its way to the forefront of her mind. Hiccup was technically royalty. In Greece or Rome, he would be equivalent to a price. If they branded him, he would become a slave, forfeiting everything. She couldn’t let them brand him. There would be no hope for either of them if Hiccup was branded. The iron was dangerously close to his neck as they held him down, preparing to permanently scar him with the rod. It was almost touching him…

“ _Wait_!” Catia shouted, realizing that her outburst could easily cost her a beating. But it didn’t matter. They couldn’t brand him. The men halted, and looked from her to their leader, as if waiting for him to strike her dead. She had to speak while she still could. “ _He is a chief’s son!”_

 _“I don’t care_ ,” the man shrugged, motioning for them to continue.

“ _His father will pay a high price to get him back_ ,” Catia went on, though she knew it was punishable. Hiccup stared at her, obviously confused by the language barrier. “ _If you brand him, his father might not want him at all, and you will have to settle for the market price.”_

Catia knew that money was the only way to bargain with these men. The promise of a large sum could persuade them into doing almost anything. She caught herself biting her bottom lip, and knew that it gave away hat she was nervous. She had to remain calm—unreadable.

The idea of more money seemed to do the job, and the head brander called off the branding. “ _Scar him,_ ” the man ordered, walking out of the room.

The other men put the rod down, Catia breathing a sigh of relief. Scarring would hurt just as badly, but at least it would not strip Hiccup of his title. One of them grabbed a knife from his belt, and slammed it into Hiccup’s right arm.

He gave a strained cry, his face screwed up in pain. The leather covering his arm luckily provided some protection from the blade, but the purpose was to scar him, and scar him they would. The man moved the knife around causing the flesh to open more. Hiccup tried to keep back his cries, but no amount of self control could stop the bitter moan of agony.

They finally pushed him toward Catia, telling the guard to take them back to their cell. Blood dripped from Hiccup’s arm, gushing so violently that it ran down his arm and over his finger, then onto the floor, a trail of blood following them the entire way.

Hiccup’s face was white with pain, though he refused to show it otherwise. They were finally shoved back into their prison after having cuffs locked on their wrists again, the old man slumped in the corner and Helena still seated next to the bars, as if waiting for Catia to return.

In far too much pain to care how dirty the floors were, Hiccup collapsed in a heap in an empty corner. He glance over at him arm, trying not to be alarmed by the blood gushing steadily from a wound just below his shoulder guard. Dizziness swept over him for a moment, so much so that he thought he might faint. He managed to fight it off, averting his eyes from the wound.

Catia knelt down next to him, asking to see his arm. He nodded, breathing heavily. His arm throbbed with every heartbeat, pulsating like a dragon’s wing through the air. With each throb came another bout of dizziness, and he groaned as his vision tunneled into a small spot of dim light.

Catia gently pulled the blood soaked leather and fabric aside, causing a suddenly stab of pain to race up and down his arm and he sucked in a sharp breathe through his teeth.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, peeling back the fabric slower. She grabbed the hem of her gray dress, and with a quick jerk tore off about three inches of the dress. She proceeded to wrap the crude, makeshift bandage around his arm. “That should keep you from bleeding to death,” she told him, as if trying to be light hearted.

Hiccup smiled, anything but light heartedly. He examined her work, simply glad that the pain was beginning to ebb. He suddenly noticed that Catia’s left forearm was caked in dried blood, though a few spots we still clean. He knew that it couldn’t possibly be his blood, so attempting to keep his mind off the pain, he asked her about it.

Catia glanced away, refusing to make eye contact. “A man sneaked up behind Astrid,” she started quietly. “I had a blade on my forearm. So…so I stopped him by cutting…” She couldn’t seem to get the words out. “By cutting off his head.”

Her last words were so shaky; Hiccup thought she might be crying. He knew she had a gentle personality, but she could hardly justify killing to protect someone. He hated killing as well, but if was to save someone’s life, he would make an exception. Catia hadn’t struck him as that person. How could they have been afraid of her? She had to be one of the most kind, sweet, and caring people he had ever met. She had been forced to be dangerous because of fear, but inside, she was sweeter than Meatlug.

Helena was trying to start another conversation, and Catia moved over next to her, replying in Greek. The little girl seemed too happy to have someone to talk to in her native language, but as Hiccup thought about it, Greek was probably the only language she knew. Catia had said she was only five. What was she doing in a place like this? What was _he_ doing in a place like this?

This was the scum of humanity, and now he was the scum of humanity. Unless someone came to his rescue, this was going to be the rest of his life. Slavery. To be truthful, it was a terrifying thought.

. . .

“Which way did the ships go?” Stoick demanded, trying yet again to squeeze some answers out of the frenzied Dragon Riders.

“West,” Fishlegs replied, wringing his hands nervously. “They went west.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“They were leaving just as I left to get you,” Astrid put in, still somewhat shakily due to her rather nerve racking day. “But the fleet was huge. There was no way we could fight that big of an armada.”

“I don’t want a fight,” Stoick announced, “but I’ll give them one if they do. Now, I need a scent for Skullcrusher to track.”

Heather’s eyes grew wide, and everyone else glanced around nervously. “We don’t have a scent,” she muttered softly.

“Oh, yes we do.” Astrid jumped, running to get Catia’s arm guard, the last known piece of Hiccup’s trail.

. . .

A sleepless night for Hiccup passed as he sat in the cell, miserable trying to ignore the continuous pain in his arm. He was exhausted; he could hardly keep his head up, but the creaking of the ship, the smells and the other various sounds, refused to let his sleep. He drew his knees up, resting his head on them, cradling his arm in his lap. For a moment, he thought he might get some rest, but a cough came from somewhere, starling him awake.

Catia had fallen asleep easily. She curled up next to Helena, and hadn’t moved since. She must have been there for hours, but in the dark dungeon of a ship, no one had any sense of time.

Hiccup suddenly noticed a torch light bobbing up and down across several rows of cells over, and the noise suddenly grew louder. Slaves stood up, all speaking in a language unknown to them, chains rattled as they were herded up the hallways and onto the deck, disappearing from sight.

Catia woke, sitting up and glancing around, as if briefly forgetting where she was. Helena had started to cry, Catia trying to consol her in Greek.

The noise was deafening. Chains rattling, guards shouting, hundreds of slaves marching up the halls, all searching for a way to escape. The door to Hiccup and Catia’s cell opened, and the guard entered, roughly standing them up and pushing them out the door and into a stampede of people.

Hiccup’s arm throbbed as it was bumped and jostled in the busyness. Helena had pushed her way through the crowd to reach Catia, and grabbed onto her dress to avoid being left behind. As they reached the steps leading up to the deck, the light that met them burned their eyes, which had grown accustomed to the dark.

The sound of whips cracking could be heard over the sounds, a few cries of pain accompanying them. The pace of the throng quickened, trying to avoid the lashes. They marched down a large ramp leading off the ship. Large trees formed a line at the edge of the rocky beach, and a huge mountain sat in the center of the island. The group headed for the woods. There were obviously not enough guards to keep the group together. A few stragglers were whipped until they fell back in line.

Hiccup realized that as soon as they reached the woods, it would become even harder to keep the prisoners together, making it a perfect escape opportunity.

“Catia,” his hissed, leaning over. “Now’s our chance. Let’s run.”

Catia shook her head viciously. “No. They’ll kill us.”

“Not if we go now. Come on.”

“Running is pointless. We’re on an island with chains on our hands and feet.”

Hiccup huffed at her stubborn attitude. Granted he was likely just as stubborn, but at least he was actually looking for an escape. These chains could easily be broken with a rock and some leverage. There had to be dragons somewhere on this island, and he was sure he could train them. These slave masters were certainly not as smart as Viggo. How hard could it be to get away?

The crowd suddenly halted and people were pushed around as a man broke away from the group and started to run. Shouts from the guards were heard and before the man had even made it far enough into the woods to get away, someone fired a crossbow at him. The man stumbled to his feet, two guards walking out to bring him back. They dragged him to a tree near the rest of the slaves, tied him there, and proceeded to flog him, using him as a public example as the other slaves were marched passed.

Hiccup swallowed, realized it could be him who was flogged next to the road. Catia been very much so right, and he was suddenly glad he had listened to her long enough to learn his lesson.

They were now close enough to the mountain to see that there was an entrance into it, hewn out of the rock. A large man approached the group, scanning the group as if looking for someone. He would occasionally nod, and the guards would pull a person out of the crowd, usually a sickly, weak, or old person. Hiccup slowly realized they were weeding out the slaves to were too useless to bather keeping alive. As the man passed them, they were pushed toward the entrance, and very soon found themselves in a colossal mine. It was dark, and torches were the only source of light there was.

Slaves were everywhere. They hacked at the walls, then stacked the stones into carts and dragged them up an iron track. A toddler, no more than three, was carrying a bucket of water across the track and stumbled just a cart rolled by. The metal wheels rolled over his tiny frame, and the child remained motionless on the tracks. It didn’t take much to know that the impact had killed him.

Another man walked past shouting something, still in a foreign language. He coiled a whip in his hands, eyeing the new slaves knowingly. He seemed to be asking a question, to which no one answered.

Except Catia. She nervously responded, gesturing to Hiccup. The big man laughed, but Catia continued to explain something. The man finally motioned to a guard, who extracted them from the crowd, Helena still clinging to Catia’s dress. No one seemed to care that the little five year old had decided to tag along. They were led deeper into the mine, to a large structure inside the massive cavern.

“I may have just saved our skins,” Catia whispered to him. “Their blacksmith is too sick to work, so they needed someone to take his place. I volunteered you. You don’t speak Irish, so I will obviously have to stay with you and translate. The forge is a much safer place than the actual mine. Helena and I can help you, and hopefully we won’t be moved.”

Hiccup nodded, though not understanding how much safer the forge could be. If the bellows got to hot, they could explode. Bits of metal often flew up into the smith’s face. Sparks could easily set just about anything on fire, not to mention there was always flaming hot metal.

The taskmaster explained something to Catia, and left, muttering something to the guard as well. “He says to fix those carts first,” Catia said, pointing to the line of more than thirty carts outside. “And fix at least six pick axes and four of the other tools so they can be put back to use.”

Hiccup groaned, knowing just by looking at the carts that some of them would be very difficult to fix. And at least two of the pick axes would be better off being completely remade rather than fixed.

“I guess we’ll start on the carts,” Hiccup muttered walking over to inspect the first one. His chains rattled, and he realized it wasn’t going to be easy working with metal cuffs around his wrists.

In the case of most of the carts, the wheels were so bent out of shape that they could no longer function properly. Much to his surprise, Catia pushed the cart over and she and Helena started to take the wheels of, Catia telling him to start the fire.

He did so, but the coals were so dim that the air from the bellows almost but the small flame out. Helena brought him a stack of wheels, trying her hardest to keep them balanced as they were piled above her head. He took them from her with a smile, trying to thank her though he could communicate with words.

The wheels heated in the fire quickly, and Hiccup grabbed one with the tongs and pounded out the dents, cooled it in a bucket of water and set in on the grinding stone to smooth it out further. Helena took it from him and brought it back to Catia, carrying it in an apron as the metal was still hot. Catia screwed the wheel back on, and the process went surprisingly fast.

But no matter how fast and hard they worked, the unfinished work only grew. The forge grew hotter as the day wore on. Catia’s hair went up in a bun, and she did the same for Helena. Hiccup had stripped down to his red tunic with the sleeves rolled up, and the only thing that kept him from taking that off was safety reasons. Gobber had drilled into him as a young boy that you should never work in the forge without a shirt because of the steam, flying red hot metal, and other dangerous situations. Of course, Hiccup had broken that rule once or twice, but he wasn’t about to risk doing it now.

Although the heat was annoying and made work miserable, the truly worrying fact was their physical wellbeing. All of their ankles and wrists were bruised from the chains. Helena had singed her hands on the hot metal several times, and her feet dragged as she continued to work. She quickly picked up on the use of the bellows, and made sure that the fire never died down. Unfortunately, she was so little that in order pump them; she had to hang on the handle, causing her poor fingers to blister even more.

Catia’s knuckles were bleeding from scraping them against the metal wheels, and her back and neck were aching. Her knees were skinned from kneeling on the rocky floor and her palms were practically one giant blister.

Hiccup was thankful for the calluses he had built up on his hands, but even his fingers were beginning to blister. His stump was throbbing, as was his arm, and his face was burned from the constant exposure to the bellows. He was exhausted, having had no sleep the night before and not having sat down once during the day. He was starving, too. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before, and his throat and mouth were screaming for water.

By the time a water carrier came around, Hiccup didn’t care how dirty the water was or whose mouth had been on the cup. He took the water and drank greedily; trying not to think of how sick the brownish liquid could make him.

The end of the work day finally came, and the group in the forge had finished all the carts, but only four of the pick axes. The taskmaster did not look happy, but he marched the three back to a cell for the night. A small bucket of water was placed in their cell along with three loaves of stale, hard, moldy bread, which they had to gnaw on in order to actually eat. Catia dipped hers in the water, and could at least get decent sized bites.

Helena was exhausted from working harder than any five year old should, and curled up in Catia’s lap, using Hiccup’s leather tunic as a blanket. Though he had planned on offering it, he never had the chance as she simply picked it up and fell asleep, claiming it for herself.

Catia was gingerly massaging her own neck, trying to work out the knots with her bloodied fingers. She leaned her head back against the cell wall, her eyes closed. Soon she had fallen asleep as well, and woke only briefly to lie down.

Hiccup, though ready to whither from fatigue, lay awake for some time pondering his pitiful state. What had he been reduced to? Only a day ago, he had been the Heir of Berk, leader among his peers, and hailed as the “dragon conqueror.” Now he was a slave, his title stripped from him, and unless his friends made a miraculous appearance, this was there rest of his life.

No doubt they would be sold sooner or later. And when they were, no one in their right mind would leave him without the Slavemark. Then he would be truly doomed. But as he glanced over at Catia and Helena, sleeping side by side on the rock floor, he realized they were doomed as well. Helena was only five years old, and if her father was unable to buy her back, she would never know what it was like to be free.

Surely tomorrow his friends would come. Tomorrow thing would get better. Hiccup’s mind slowly faded, a restless, but deep sleep taking over him.


	3. Chapter 3

Tomorrow was not better. The Taskmaster was furious that they had not finished the tools they were supposed to fix, and stood by, whip in hand. Catia seemed to know how to avoid the beatings, working harder than she had the day before, as if it were possible. Even Helena worked faster, and tried to stay away from the man.

The taskmaster didn’t seem interested in the girls, though. He watched Hiccup intently, as if waiting for him do something wrong. Hiccup tried to work faster. But his back, shoulders, and neck were so sore, and the wound in his arm hurt even worse. He was parched, and was tempted to drink some of the water that was used to cool the red hot metal.

Hiccup pried off the head of a pick axe, and it slipped, clattering on the stone ground. He picked it up immediately, but not quick enough for the man watching. His whip came down in a flash, the leather cord slashing across his shoulders. In stung worse than anything Hiccup had ever felt, and the burn refused to leave. He kept working, trying to pick up his pace even though he was already working as fast as he could.

Catia offered him a sympathetic glance, but said nothing and continued working. The day passed slowly, and Hiccup endured so many lashes he lost count. By about midday, he noticed blood trickling down his arms from the lashes on his back. Every movement was agony, and he gradually slowed his work, which only lead to more beatings. 

His back was burning, stinging, aching, and every other word that could be used to describe pain. He lifted a hammer, to pound out a dent in one of the tools, but the pain was so great that his grip loosened and the hammer fell from his hands.

Infuriated, the taskmaster brought his whip down, the leather striking his back shoulder, and even nicking his cheek. Again and again the whip was lashed, each one hitting him solidly. Hiccup finally stumbled to the ground, and the man laughed cruelly, as if it pleased him in some sick way. Hiccup tried to stand up, but stumbled and fell again, the whip snagging his neck. He was now flat on the ground, enduring the lashes without fighting back.

Catia suddenly ran in, grabbed the hammer off the ground, and started to work on the metal Hiccup had been. The man, realizing that the job was being done, ordered Hiccup to stand up in crude Norse. Hiccup dragged himself to his feet, and stumbled across the forge to take over Catia’s job. Helena eyed him curiously, and tried to offer him some advice, none of which he could understand.

Hiccup’s head spun as he tried to work through the haze of feverish pain. His hands shook as waves of agony shimmied across his back and neck, following its course down his arms. There was a roaring noise in his ears, and he was sure he would pass out.  He squeezed his eyes shut, and opened them again, finding his vision to be slightly clearer.

Another strike from the whip landed on his back, and he realized his work had slowed. He picked up his pace, or tried to, but his hands were shaking so hard, and his back hurt so much, he couldn’t focus. He moved so gingerly that he could hardly attach the bolts to the cart wheel.

Finally, after four more lashes from the whip, the sound of a horn ended the day’s work. Slaves returned their tools to the large bins, and filed into their holdings for the night. Catia knowingly came to Hiccup’s aid as he could hardly walk, and draped his arm over her shoulder and helped him back to their cell. He mumbled his thanks as she helped him sit on the hard floor, grimacing as his back was forced to move.  

“We need to clean those welts,” Catia told him, “Take of your shirt.” He failed to do it himself, and groaned as she pulled in over his head. The fabric was shredded and bloodstained, and Hiccup could only wonder what his back looked like.

Catia glanced at their water empty bucket, then at the guard outside the door. “Can you fake sickness?” she asked, her voice hushed.

“I guess,” he muttered, fighting the habit of shrugging.

“Good, do it.” With that, she walked over to the cell door, and called out to the guard.

“ _What?_ ” he snarled, glaring at her.

“ _Please,”_ Catia begged, her eyes looking remarkably like that of a sad puppy. “ _We need water. My friend is getting worse._ ”

“ _Stop complaining,_ ” he growled back.

“ _He is the only blacksmith,”_ she retorted. “ _Imagine what they would do to you if he died on your watch.”_

The guard obviously cared about what happened regarding himself, and filled up a bucket with water and passed it to Catia. “ _No one cares what happens to him,”_ he grumbled. “ _You’re being sent to the markets tomorrow.”_

Catia thanked him curtly and walked back to Hiccup. Helena had taken one of his hands in hers, and was attempting to comfort him in Greek, but he was so dazed with pain he didn’t seem to hear her. It was adorably sweet effort nonetheless. 

Catia tore a piece off of his shirt and dipped it in the water, wrung out the excess and started to gently dab around the wounds covering his back. There were so many; most slaves wouldn’t have been able to work through the pain. She allowed some water to drip onto his back, loosening up the dried blood and dust that clung to what was left of his skin. He drew in a sharp breath through his teeth, wincing from the sting.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, hating that it was necessary to cause him even more pain. The process went on for what felt like an hour, and a few loaves of moldy bread were dropped off into their cell. Helena ate hers and fell asleep, but Catia worked long into the night.

“Ow!” he hissed, jerking away from her. “Not so hard!”

Catia knew he had been putting up with the pain she caused him for much longer she wanted him to, so she didn’t answer harshly. “I’m so sorry. I know it hurts.”

“Like you know how this feels,” he muttered, grimacing.

Thousands of memories unleashed in Catia’s mind like a floodgate, and anger rushed through her veins as if her blood was boiling. “I don’t know?” she asked viciously, walking in front of him to face the wall, away from him and the front of their cell. “I _wish_ I didn’t know!”  She undid the front of her dress, and slipped it down over her shoulders, exposing her back. She pulled her hair to the side, showing him the many scars covering her back and shoulders.

“I _wish_ I could say that I don’t know what a beating feels like, that I don’t know what it feels like to live my life in slavery, to say that I was not stolen from my family!” she went on, tears threatening to fall. How dare he act as if she didn’t understand what he was enduring. She knew better than he _ever_ would!

“Look at me, Hiccup Haddock, and tell me I don’t know!”

She glanced back over her shoulder, realizing that he truly didn’t understand her history. Well, she would fix that.

. . .

_The little girl wandered up the beach, the sand squeezing up between her toes and the waves of the Mediterranean Sea lapping up on the shore beside her. The evening breeze rustled through her long black hair, and her deep blue eyes, framed with thick black lashes scanned the sand for the colorful, butterfly-like clam shells._

_She glanced back down the beach at her parents, making sure she hadn’t walked too far. Her brother was even further up the beach, collecting the shells himself. She spotted a pretty purple shell in the sand, and she reached down and picked it up with her chubby fingers._

_Happy with her find, she scurried up the beach to catch her brother. “Koíta ti vríka_! _” she said, showing off her shell. Her brother looked at it and shrugged, as if it wasn’t anything special. She pouted, but when she saw the shells in his hands, she was positive hers was prettier._

_She wandered into the water, only up to her knees, giggling as a school of fish swarmed around her feet._

_“Careful, Tia,” her brother warned, a teasing smile on his face, “There are sharks in there!”_

_The little girl frowned at him. “No dere isn’t!” she told him firmly, as she slowly back out of the water. When he wasn’t looking, she ran back down the beach to her parents. Her father, who made jewelry from the shells on the beach, was molding a silver and gold frame for a shell._

_“I finded one,” she said, passing it to her mother, beaming with pride over the perfect spectacle._

_“Brávo_ _, Catia,” she praised, looking the shell over. “Very good!”_

_“It’s perfect for what I’m doing right now,” Catia’s father smiled, taking the shell and fitting it into the golden wires. With a few adjustments, he had finished the necklace. “Here, Catia,” he said, motioning for her to come closer. He put the necklace over her head. “This one is for you.”_

_Catia beamed, and inspected the necklace. Yes, hers was much better than any of her brother’s._

_“Catia, go play with Danyel,” her mother instructed, pointing up the beach, her blue eyes dazzling just as much as her daughter’s._

_“I don’t want to play wif Danyel,” Catia grumbled. “He said dere were sharks in de water.”_

_Her mother laughed. “He’s just teasing. You don’t need to worry about sharks. Now go play.” She leaned down and kissed Catia on the top of her head, sending her off to play._

_She tagged along with her brother for awhile, but he wasn’t doing anything fun, so she started back toward her parents, fiddling with her new necklace. As her family came into view, her young face clouded with confusion. There were some men there too, four that she could count, as she could count all the way to four now._

_But what confused the child so much was what the men were doing. It seemed as if they were yelling at her father, and…holding a knife to her Mommy’s throat. Infuriated, but frightened, Catia slowly ventured closer._

_“Mommy?” she called out, still coming closer._

_Her mother looked up, appearing to be far more afraid than Catia was. “No, Catia!” she shouted. “Run! Run!”_

_The urgency in her mother’s voice made her obey, and she turned around and ran as fast as her little feet would carry her. She heard a scream from behind her, and turned just in time to see her father, then mother, fall to the ground with a knife in each of their hearts._

_A big man was behind her, running and easily gaining. He suddenly grabbed her, throwing her over his shoulder. She kicked and screamed, but couldn’t get away. Danyel had tried to come to help her, but another man had grabbed him. The group of men and screaming children walked up the beach to a boat, and just like that, Catia and Danyel were dragged away from everything they knew and loved._

. . .

Hiccup stared at her, his eyes full of shock and remorse. Catia blinked away the tears that had pooled in her eyes at the heartbreaking memories, still as real to her as they had ever been. The only thing that had faded was the faces of her parents. She could hardly picture them now. She touched the necklace that she had managed to keep with her all these years, that one part of her that she hadn’t lost. Sniffing, Catia finished tying up the front of her dress and turned around.

“I’m so sorry, Catia,” Hiccup whispered, staring at the floor. “I had no idea you were a slave.”

Catia didn’t answer. She lowered herself down to the floor in a corner, her eyes refusing to clear of the tears. She had thought by escaping slavery she could escape who she was—out run the painful memories and scars that defined her.

“I’m sorry about your parents,” Hiccup said quietly, as if trying to make up for his words.

“Don’t be,” she mumbled back. “I hardly remember them.” Just saying the words caused her heart to ache and her throat to tighten painfully.

“What happened to Danyel?” he went on, his voice still full of shame.

Catia pursed her lips as her eyes watered further. Danyel was the most painful memory of them all. Her sweet, loving brother—it hurt to call him a memory. But she couldn’t keep the pain to herself. Someone should know.

“Danyel and I were sold as slaves just after our parents were killed,” she started firmly, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “We spent time in Rome, Gaul, and by the time I was nine, we had made it to Britannia **.** I had picked up on the varying languages quickly, and I was often used to translate, but Danyel had spent thirteen years of his life speaking Greek, so learning something new was hard for him. But even though he did learn some of the other dialects, he never spoke a word to me in any other language but Greek.”

Catia smiled at the fond and cherished memory. “I wouldn’t know how to speak my native language if it weren’t for him. And he never called me anything but ‘Tia.’ I loved that nickname. I still do. He somehow managed to keep us together throughout the years, and always promised that someday we would return to Greece where we belonged.”

“But what happened to him?” Hiccup pressed, clearly interested.

Catia took in a deep breath, closing her eyes. He must know she was stalling. But how could she tell such a painful story? How could she revisit that horrible moment in her life, and bring someone else with her?

“While we were in Britannia, we were sold to a very harsh and unkind land owner. He would severely punish anyone who crossed him, and all the slaves were terrified of him. Except for Danyel. He was never afraid of anyone. However, he did as he was told, because he knew that I was afraid of the man and didn’t want trouble for either of us.”

She paused, deciding what to say next. So far it was easier than she had expected it to be. “One day, an old, weak woman had stumbled under a load of water from the well. The man, being as cruel as he was, ordered her to be whipped with a switch. When Danyel saw what was happening, he tried to help her.”

Catia suddenly choked up, the memory playing before her eyes. “She got away, but the man was so angry with my brother that he said Danyel would take her punishment 100 times worse.” Tears started to run down her cheeks as she pictured her brother, bravely standing up to the slave master, righteous anger flashing in his eyes.

“So they tied him to a post, and instead of using a switch, they flogged him…” she trailed off, realizing that every ounce of pain that had once been in her heart was still present. She drew in a shaking breath, trying to keep back tears that had been dammed up for years.

“At first he wouldn’t make a sound,” she continued, her voice straining. “But he finally started to beg for mercy. They refused to stop. He…he was covered in blood.” She cried harder, recalling his bloody body slumped limply against the whipping post, crying out in agony.

“They made me watch,” she choked out, sobs starting to come up. “I screamed for them to stop. I even offered myself in his place. My brother was the most important thing on this earth to me; I would have done anything to save him. I finally ran in and tried to untie him, but with the whip hitting me as well, I couldn’t.”

She licked her lips slowly, brushing tears out of her eyes. “And then he said…” she gave a quiet sob; the words were so hard to say. “He said ‘I love you, Tia’ and that was it. He hung his head and died right there.” She had forced the words out quickly, hoping she would manage to say them before her anguished sobs took over. Catia buried her face in her hands, bawling harder than she had ever cried since Danyel’s death.

Hiccup sat stunned, watching Catia sob. She was so broken. It hurt him to watch her. It would hurt anyone to watch her. He knew he should do something, but as to what, it was hard to decide. Haven seen enough of her pain, he gingerly stood up and seated himself beside her, loosely placing an arm over her shoulders.

It wasn’t even close to the comfort he would have offered Astrid, but he hoped it was enough to show Catia that he cared. She stiffened at first, causing him to realize that she had probably never been comforted by anyone other than her brother, but she finally relaxed and her crying ebbed.

“I didn’t finish cleaning your back,” she said finally, standing and heading for the bucket of water.

“Don’t,” Hiccup replied firmly. “My back is fine. We should just get some sleep.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, forcing a smile. “And thanks for what you did today. I don’t think that guy would’ve quit.”

Catia smiled, and it was a real smile. She lay down next to Helena, and forced her mind to think of something other than the auction they were headed for the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So everyone, what do you think so far? I'd love to hear anything you might be thinking, so let me know in the comments.
> 
> FYI, Britannia is England, Gaul is France, and Rome is, well, the Roman Empire. 
> 
> Only one chapter left--Keep a lookout for it!


	4. Chapter 4

Skullcrusher roared as he picked up a trail, stomping through the trees. The dragon had tracked Hiccup and Catia to this remote island, and lost the trail. But he seemed to have it again, and he rushed across the island, charging toward the large mountain in the center.

He paused briefly, allowing Stoick to jump on his back before he took off. “Let’s go!” The big man shouted behind him, commanding the others to follow him. The Rumblehorn headed straight for the huge mass of earth and rock, and slowed his flight to curve around the mountain. Stoick’s eyes widened as a huge cave mouth came into view.

People were walking in and out, pushing metal carts of rock and carrying sacks and baskets of dirt. Large men were beating them with whips. Stoick swallowed his horror, realizing that his son had been taken to a slave mine. No matter. Hiccup would be free soon.

Skullcrusher landed and walked into the cave, his nose to the ground. “Stay here,” Stoick told the other riders firmly as he followed. No one seemed to care that they had come. The slaves carried on as if nothing were different. Not even the taskmasters gave them a second glance.

The dragon sniffed his way into a forge; it was a perfectly logical place for Hiccup to have been. Skullcrusher backtracked out of the forge and entered an alleyway. His head suddenly jerked up, and roaring, he staring careening down the hall.

This was it! This had to be it! After three days of rigorous searching, Stoick would finally be reunited with his son. And he would give that Grecian brat a piece of his mind. The two ran past several empty cells, and Skullcrusher stopped abruptly and peered into one.

Stoick stopped as well, and stared through the bars. The cell was empty. Except for a small bucket in the corner, it was completely void. The man rattled the bars in frustration. How were they not here? He knew they had been here, but where were they now?

He heard someone approaching from behind, and his dragon turned and growled. Stoick glanced over his shoulder, spotting a man in uniform walking steadily toward them.

“You here to buy slaves?” the man asked, his accent foreign.

He wasn’t, but that probably wasn’t the right answer. “Yes,” Stoick replied.

“Slaves were sent to the markets this morning,” the man replied. “We don’t have any for sale here.”

The slave market! Could there possibly be a more dangerous place for Hiccup to go? “Where is the market?” Stoick asked, trying to keep his cool.

“To the west,” the man replied, “Several hours west. The good slaves will have already been sold by now. The markets might be closed by the time you get there.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Stoick replied, fighting the urge to crack the man’s skull open with a hammer. He had not imprisoned Hiccup, but it would sooth the protective father’s anger.

He motioned for Skullcrusher to follow him, and they rushed back out to tell the others. Stoick couldn’t help but notice the conditions of the mine, and it made him sick to think that his child had been living in them. The riders hand been waiting anxiously for him to return, but their faces fell when they realized he had returned alone.

“Where are they?” Astrid pressed urgently the minute he was close enough to hear.

“They were sent to the slave markets,” he replied, not bothering to look at their horrified expressions. “We have to hurry.”

No sooner had he spoken the words than did the dragon riders take to the air. Stoick urged Skullcrusher after them, taking the lead and heading due west. He would get his son back. He didn’t care what it would take, but he would bring Hiccup home.

. . .

Astrid ducked behind a wall, glancing around the corner to make sure she was unseen. If she was caught lurking where the slaves were kept before the auction, she might be killed. None of the slaves seemed to mind her, and she crept past a few more cages. They were hauntingly similar to the ones the dragons were kept in, except these were for retaining people.

She finally caught sight of Hiccup, slumped in the corner of cage, somewhat off by itself. A smile lit up her face, and she ran for him, calling out softly as she did so. He glanced up at her, relief flooding his eyes when he recognized her.

“Astrid!” he exclaimed quietly, sitting up and moving forward to greet her. “Am I glad to see you!”

“Are you okay?” she asked, gasping for breath.

“Yeah, I guess. Do you have any water?”

“No, I’m so sorry,” Astrid glanced around for a stream. It was rather stupid of her to come and find him without bringing food and water. “Where’s Catia?”

“I don’t know,” Hiccup replied, sitting back tiredly. “They spilt us up on the ship. I don’t even know if she’s been sold or not.”

Astrid swallowed. “Let’s hope not. Listen; there are too many people around to break you out. Your dad says that when you get brought up to be sold, look as weak and sick as you can. He’s going to buy you back.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Hiccup smiled, but something about the statement didn’t seem like sarcasm. Astrid offered a halfhearted smile, and ran back to Stoick as a guard rounded the corner.

The guard strode up to Hiccup’s cage, barked at him in another language motioning for him to stand up. Hiccup gingerly did so, his back protesting in pain. The iron door swung open, and the guard pulled him out by his shirt. The gashes on his back and shoulders felt as if they were on fire, burning and aching endlessly.

His mouth felt like cotton, his tongue like a mattress. His stomach growled angrily, reminding him that the only food he had eaten was a piece of moldy bread. The cut in his arm throbbed with every step, and his vision was growing fuzzy. No, he would have no problem at all looking weak and sick!

Within minutes he found himself standing on an auction block, like an animal or piece of furniture. A crowd of people stared up at him, silently judging a fair price. He could only wonder what they were willing to pay for him. Ten sceattas? Thirty? What was he worth to them?

“Here we are ladies and gentleman,” the auctioneer started, his voice full of far too much excitement for his job. “This young man may not look like much, but he’s got it where it counts! He knows smithin’ and ain’t so bad at most other work! Who will start the bidding? Do I hear ten?”

“Ten,” someone in the crowd echoed.

“Fifteen? Do I hear fifteen?”

The bidding went up to forty sceattas, and Hiccup had still not spotted his father and friends in the crowd. His head drooped in weariness, and he honestly wished someone would just buy him so he could possibly sit down. His left knee gave out, but he managed to stay upright.

“Forty-five!”

“Forty-seven!”

“Fifty!”

“SIXTY!”

Hiccup immediately recognized his father’s booming voice, and glanced in the direction the sound had come from. His dad wasn’t hard to spot; he was a head taller than everyone else. Standing by the edge of the crowd, the vicious glare he gave the auctioneer warned the man not to continue raising the bid.

“Sixty going once, twice-”

“Sixty-five,” a cruel looking man with an eye patch jumped in.

“Seventy!” Stoick shouted, motioning for Astrid to stop the man from bidding him up again. She gladly did so, easily knocking him out with a swift blow to the helmet.

“Going once, twice, SOLD to the man in the back!”

Hiccup was roughly pushed off the block to make room for the next slave, and he stumbled down off the platform all but collapsing into a heap. His father came running, but was stopped by one of the men who demanded the money first. His friends rushed over and help him away from the crowds of people.

A guard stopped them and unchained his wrists, revealing the deep purple and blue bruises. The edges of his vision were slowly growing dark, and roaring filled his ears. The pain was almost unbearable.

“I have water now,” Astrid offered, sitting beside him and taking off the canteen cover. He took it from her with shaky hands, and drank greedily, savoring the clean, fresh, cool taste. “Heather is coming with food,” Astrid added, taking the empty canteen from him.

Stoick came hurrying over concern written on his face. “Are you alright, son?” He asked, dropping to his knees beside Hiccup.

“Still in one piece,” Hiccup replied shortly, closing his eyes as the pain in his back suddenly increased. “What took you guys so long?”

“Snotlout took us to the wrong auction,” Stoick replied, shooting a meaningful glare back at the young man.

“I didn’t know there were multiple sales going on,” Snotlout defended himself. “Sorry.”

“Who’s guarding Dragon’s Edge?” Hiccup asked, trying to change the topic.

“Ruff, Tuff, and Shattermaster,” Astrid replied, the look she gave him telling him that she meant Dagur, but didn’t want Stoick to know who she had left in charge. Hiccup nodded, glad that she had the sense not to share that information with his father. He wasn’t sure how Berk’s chief would take such news.

“Do you think you can walk back to where we left the dragons?” Stoick pressed obviously anxious to leave the slave market.

“I can try,” Hiccup replied. He had managed to work for two days with only a loaf of bread for food, his hands chained, and a wound in his arm. He was pretty sure he could walk. With help, he pulled himself to his feet and followed after Snotlout and Fishlegs. He tripped suddenly, and Astrid grabbed him to keep him from falling. Her arm settled his back, and a mangled cry of pain escaped him.

“Are you okay?” Astrid asked, her eyes wide.

“Yeah, fine,” he whispered, the pain slowly ebbing. “Just…don’t touch my back.”

“Sorry,” she whispered, gently removing her hands. “What happened?”

“Beatings,” he mumbled, stumbling on as he tried to ignore the pain.

Astrid turned as she heard Stoick mutter something under his breath, obviously overhearing what Hiccup had said. She knew slavery was bad, but seeing the market and now her friend had opened her eyes to the topic.

Hiccup’s body ached, but he refused to stop, knowing how unlikely it would be for him to move on after he did so. They passed another auction block, but he didn’t bother to see who was currently being sold.

“…speaks several languages and is capable of all forms of work! She’s quiet now but is really spunky once you have her for a while. Stubborn and determined! She’ll work hard!”

Hiccup finally glanced up, realizing it was a description of Catia. He stopped, craning his neck to see her. It was Catia! And Helena was just off to the side!

“What is it, son?” Stoick asked, taking a quick glance in the same direction.

“Catia,” Hiccup replied. “They’re selling her right now.”

“That brat who held you captive? Good. She deserves it.”

“No. She doesn’t.” Hiccup glared defiantly at his father, having heard quite enough of his wrong ideas. “Catia did not ‘hold us captive.’ She saved our lives, and I am not leaving here without her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hiccup,” Stoick scolded. “Let’s go.”

“No!” Hiccup stepped away from his father. “I’m not going anywhere without her! I would be dead if it weren’t for her! I wasn’t beaten to death because of her! I wasn’t forced into mining because of her! I wasn’t branded because of her! So no! I’m not going anywhere!”

Stoick’s eyes widened. Hiccup hadn’t been branded? He had assumed he had come to rescue he son even though he could no longer be heir. But Catia had somehow avoided it?

“She’s not a monster, dad.” Hiccup went on. “She was kidnapped as a three year old and was forced into slavery. Now she’s hiding from Viggo, and thought that we would tell him where she was. Please. We can’t abandon her, especially not now.”

Stoick stared at his son for a moment, and seeing the stubborn determination in his eyes, he turned to the crowd and threw in a bid. It carried, and Catia was pushed down off the block, unchained and brought over to Stoick. She stared at him, shocked that he had actually paid for her. That man hated her.

“My son says you saved his life,” he started, eyeing her warily. “For that, I thank you. You’re free to go.”

“Free?” she repeated shakily. She had never known what freedom was like. To be free…why, it was only something she had dreamed about.

Stoick nodded, and he and Hiccup hurried to catch up with the others.

“Free,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I’m free.” Oh, how she wished her brother was here to enjoyed freedom with her! She fingered the necklace, trying to picture Danyel’s face, laughing as he swung her around in circles. But her family was gone. She could never have them back. She was the only one to be free.

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hardly even heard the shouting people behind her, but in the chaos, she suddenly picked up on what sounded like Greek.

Curious, she turned and scanned the crowd, noticing a man shouting and trying to bid on Helena. His dark hair and eyes was obviously of Greek origin, and he seemed desperate to buy the little girl. He must be her father!

Catia pushed her way through the crowd, calling to the man in their native language. She finally reached him, and grabbed his arm. “ _I will translate for you!_ ” she explained. “ _How much do you have?”_

The man smiled his thanks. “ _80 sceattas. Please, I must get my daughter back.”_

Catia nodded and called out a number, a few sceattas above the current bid. As the numbers went up, fewer and fewer people began to bid. It was a known fact that younger slaves were a better bargain. They could be trained easier and often worked with more determination. They were also less likely to try and run away.

One man seemed determined to buy Helena, but by the look on his face, he would not be a kind master. He was bidding dangerously close to 80 sceattas, and Catia was worried that they might be out bid. Then it happened.

“85 sceattas!” He called out with a sneer.

“85 sceattas going once!” the auctioneer shouted. Catia frantically tried to think of a way to stop the deal. She was out of money, and was quickly running out of time. What could she do?

“Going twice!”

No! No! She couldn’t let Helena be sold into a life of misery! Her mind managed to conjure up memories of her first auction. She was no older than Helena, fearfully clinging to her brother. Her brother…her family…

“SOL-”

“WAIT!”

Silence fell upon the crowd, and the auctioneer froze, his mouth wide open.

Catia swallowed, trying not to think of the hundreds of people staring at her. “80 sceattas and this necklace.” Choking back tears, she slipped it over her head and held it up for everyone to see. “It’s worth at least 200 sceattas in Grecian currency.”

“280 sceattas going once, twice, SOLD to the lady with the necklace!”

Stunned, Catia took the money from the man and her precious necklace and handed them reluctantly to the moneychanger. Tears pricked at her eyes as the beautiful piece of jewelry was stuffed into a box like a common coin. It was far more valuable than 200 sceattas. It was more valuable than one million sceattas. It was the only piece of her family that she had left.

But as she turned away and caught sight of Helena laughing as her father swooped her up in his arms, and his tearful joy at holding his little girl again, Catia couldn’t help but smile. She had saved Helena from living her life, and that was what mattered. She had not had this chance to stop every horrible thing that had happened to her, but at least now Helena didn’t have to endure them.

A few tears slipped out and down her cheeks as she envisioned her own mother leaning over her bed at night, singing her favorite lullaby. Her father, telling her stories as he worked in his shop. Danyel, protecting her for as long as he could, giving up his food rations and doing everything in his power to keep her safe.

She tried to imagine her whole family together, happy. She could see them smiling at her, feel them hugging, heard them telling her they loved her, and that she would never be separated from them again.

It hurt, to see Helena enjoying something she could never have, but at the same time, she knew it would’ve hurt far worse to know that she would suffer what Catia had.

Helena’s father walked over, his daughter in his arms, ands tears on his face. “ _Thank you_ ,” he choked out. “ _I can never thank you enough. Is there anything I could do to-_ ”

Catia held up a hand to stop him. “ _No_ ,” she replied, smiling. “ _To know that Helena can go home is enough.”_

Helena squirmed out of her father’s arms and ran to Catia, her arms open to hug her. Catia dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around the little girl in return. Though she knew that Helena and her father might never know that she had given up her priceless heirloom so that the little girl could be free, Catia knew that it was worth it.

The three parted ways, and Catia smiled as she headed toward her group of friends, waiting for her at the edge of the crowd. They were as good as a family—a strange one, but all the same a family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is. The last chapter of Slave Trade. It is not, however, the last book in the series. There is another story coming soon! Keep a look out for "Anklebone of Contention!" It will dive much deeper into Dagur and Heather's relationship and is one of my favorites!
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this book, and I hope you enjoyed reading it! Make my day and leave kudos and comment your favorite part!
> 
> ~Spinofflady


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